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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28879683">Home at last</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fazcinatingreads/pseuds/fazcinatingreads'>fazcinatingreads</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cricket RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:42:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>336</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28879683</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fazcinatingreads/pseuds/fazcinatingreads</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Handscomb and his big bash team finally arrive in Melbourne for the last leg of bbl10 and Pete is glad to be home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Home at last</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The smell of decent coffee was in the air and Peter Handscomb breathed it in as he stepped out of the arrivals gate. He was home. </p><p>Pete dodged around the hustle of a crowd, each person dressed in black Katmandu puffer jackets, and made his way to the baggage carousel. </p><p>Once there, he felt a big meaty arm around his shoulders. </p><p>"They've got a coffee cart over there," Scott Boland said with a gesture of his head, and took a sip of his takeaway coffee. He handed another coffee to his Captain. </p><p>Pete gratefully took the cup. Taking a tentative sip of the hot liquid, he could already taste the quality of the beans, the creaminess of the cappuccino. It felt like heaven. </p><p>They eventually got their bags, Scott wheeling both his and Pete's kit bags, Pete strolling along beside clutching both their coffees. </p><p>Their teammates were waiting on the bus outside. </p><p>As Pete got on, he ducked to avoid a projectile thrown by D'Arcy Short. </p><p>"Sorry skip," D'Arcy said, sheepishly. He threw something else at Tim David, hitting him in the face. </p><p>Pete and Scott sat together, drinking their coffees in silence, while their rowdy teammates talked, laughed and threw lollies at each other. </p><p>The bus finally pulled up at a huge field on the outskirts of Melbourne. The boys stopped their antics to stare at it through the windows, amazed, gobsmacked at the fancy architecture of the stadium. </p><p>"Where are we?" Riley Meredith asked quietly, transfixed by the sight. </p><p>"Kinglake," Pete answered, "this is our new home."</p><p>They all dismounted the bus and headed inside the complex. </p><p>Once on the field, they all took in the surroundings - the pristine ground, the huge grandstands all around, the light towers jutting up into the night sky. </p><p>"So much better than Marvel," James Faulkner marvelled. </p><p>Pete grinned proudly at his creation, sipping the last dregs of his almond milk cappuccino, glad to finally own a cricket team to play in the stadium he built.<br/>
The Handscomb Hurricanes.</p>
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